Variations on a Theme
by Shakespira
Summary: Three very different people and their interpretation of the Grey Warden motto: In war, victory; In peace, vigilance; In death, sacrifice.


**Variations on a Theme**

_In war, victory  
In peace, vigilance  
In death, sacrifice  
-_The Grey Warden Motto

**~~~In Peace, Sacrifice~~~**

Duncan's fingers tightened on the shaft of the quill, ink spots falling like tears to stain the letter. His grip was so tight that the quill snapped in half, defenseless against his frustration. With a muttered oath he tossed both pieces of the quill, along with the blotted letter, into the fire.

His dark eyes traveled to the framed sampler above the fireplace. The Grey Warden motto, lovingly stitched by Leonie when she was twelve and determined to be a lady; a determination, he noted with an affectionate smile, which had lasted all of six months. Still, his eyes traced back to the words and his frustration mounted.

In the distance, he could hear the sounds of children playing, their laughter boisterous and unfettered by concerns, weightlessly carried on the currents. He wondered briefly if he had ever been that young and carefree. He knew that Leonie had; he had watched her playing in the meadow with Perot, as bright as morning sunshine after a stormy night. He blinked, surprised that the longing to be with her was so strong it was a physical ache.

There were times when he thought those first Wardens had mistaken what being a Grey Warden was really all about. It was peace, and not death, that was often filled with sacrifice. How many men and women had given up a comfortable life to live the hardscrabble existence of a Warden? How many had walked away from loved ones to protect the people of Thedas from the darkspawn threat? How many would never know the joy of hearing their children play with such wild and joyous freedom?

He should be with Leonie, comforting her after the death of Marliss and the duel with Maraville, not languishing in Ferelden making useless attempts to increase the Grey Warden presence. He was sacrificing his peace of mind by doing so. He was sacrificing his happiness by following the duty he had never asked for. Maker only knew what sacrifices she was making in this time of peace.

With a low growl of frustration, he trimmed a new quill and pulled out a clean sheet of parchment. Dipping his quill in the ink, he began a new letter, hiding the frustration he felt at not being there for her.

_My sweet Lion,_

_I have heard from Bertran about your duel. I would ask why you didn't mention it in your letter but I suspect I already know the answer._

_What you did was a decent but extremely foolhardy thing to do. I applaud your need to avenge Marliss. I don't applaud your headlong rush into danger. I know you have probably already heard all the reasons why you shouldn't have done what you did, so I won't repeat them here._

_Believe me, Lion, I do understand. Had you not killed Montran, I would have done so without hesitation. I know you well enough to know you are probably harder on yourself than anyone else ever could be. Don't muck around in this, Leo. It happened. Accept it. Learn from it. But let it go and move on, taking only the lesson with you._

_I love you, Lion. I miss you. Stay strong._

_Your devoted,  
Duncan_

Such paltry words when he wanted to shake her for her impetuosity and honor her for her gallantry. Instead, he slipped the sealed missive into the Warden pouch and sent it on its way, wondering yet again why the Wardens didn't recognize the sacrifices made by every Warden.

He looked around the sterile office where he spent so much time and realized again just how much he had given up to be the commander. For a long moment, he sat still and let his anguish curl into him like smoky wisps, missing Leonie so strongly that he felt the heavy pressure of tears building. He wondered why the Grey Wardens couldn't see that it was peace that required sacrifices. Every minute of every day.

In those unguarded moments he wanted to walk away, to refuse to sacrifice one more minute of happiness, to find his way to Leonie and pretend that the sacrifices had been worth it. The hours of aching loneliness, of self-doubt, of not having a dark-haired son chasing after him, or a blue-eyed daughter to read to, of not being there when Leonie needed him, hardened and solidified like a lead weight in his belly.

Standing, he went out to the practice yard, trying once more to remember his duty, not his longing. A new recruit saluted and babbled about the honor of being a Warden, his young face shining with a purity that Duncan doubted he'd ever worn. Somehow it reminded him of Leonie, of the shining purity of _her_ soul. She had sacrificed far more than he had, yet she was honored and proud to be a Warden, the sacrifices she had made throughout her life seemingly worth the effort to her, never lessening the privilege she felt at being a Warden.

Shoulders straight, he returned the young recruit's smile and continued on, knowing he could do no less for Leonie.

**~~~In War, Vigilance~~~**

Little Katy Cousland, they had called her, those nobles who had flocked to her father's side and hoped that their son would be chosen to add to the Cousland dynasty. Dynasty? A tiny, derisive snort floated in the cool evening air. She was all that was left, unless Fergus could be found. Maker, what a mess she had made. And now, on the precipice of the final battle, she was simply too tired to care.

From the time she had been a child, growing up with the legends of the Wardens as favored bedtime stories, she had relished the notion of becoming one herself. She had spent long hours of her childhood practicing with Fergus and Rory, her whole world revolving around becoming a Grey Warden. In times of peace she would stand vigilant in the shadows, the only protection between man and darkspawn. With her there to watch over them, man need never lose sleep, never be afraid. How supremely arrogant and naïve she had been when faced with the reality of war and the constant need to protect, to be on guard, to be vigilant.

Moving away from the encampment she watched as tents turned molten gold by campfires, and stared out at the sweeping expanse of night, shivering. Tomorrow they would be in Denerim and already she could see the faint red glow that hung over the city. Was there anything left to save, she asked herself again.

Anger rippled through her, milder than her earlier burst of fury, when she had torn into Alistair, berating him for not being stronger, watching as his face turned ashen and the light in his eyes dimmed until it was dulled by guilt. Her own guilt settled into her heart, dragging it down until it felt too heavy to carry.

Maker, she was just so tired. Weariness made her bones ache and her mind sluggish, made her wish for the end of the war so she could go to Rainesfere and live quietly with Teagan, who would make all the decisions, watch over their life and allow her the peace of knowing she no longer had to be vigilant. A vague unease squeezed her chest, compressing her heart. She promised herself with a fierceness belying her exhaustion, that she would love him and honor him, and he would never know that her broken heart had not truly mended. Soon, she vowed. If she was just allowed time to float, to close her eyes and sleep, her heart would mend and she would give it to Teagan without reservation.

She leaned against a tree and then felt a hand gently grasp hers and squeeze. She allowed herself to drop her guard for a long moment as Teagan held her, content to drop her burden for just that split moment when she transferred her weariness to his shoulders.

"My dear, you have done everything humanly possible. Your father would be proud, as would your mother," he whispered softly, his voice wrapping around her like a fur-lined cloak.

"I was so busy practicing victory in war that I forgot the most important part of war … vigilance. How could the Grey Wardens have gotten it so wrong?"

His arm tightened and she felt, briefly, as if she had finally sailed through a maelstrom to land in a snug harbor. She could stop watching over everyone for a moment. Teagan's capable hands held her; he would keep watch, if only for a moment. Her eyes closed and she let her head settle on his shoulder.

"You brought together the mages, dwarves, elves, and the divided armies of Ferelden, not to mention the nobles of the Landsmeet. And you've made me the happiest of men, dear Kate. Isn't it time you let go of the burdens, at least for tonight?"

But how could she? Her head snapped up and once again she felt the need to go and visit with each of her companions. But the idea reminded her that Marjolaine's men had captured Leliana while Katy was bargaining for more elves. Maker, she had only been gone two days, why hadn't someone else watched over Leliana? But it was her responsibility. Her failure. She hadn't been vigilant enough.

And then Sten had turned on her because she hadn't paid enough attention to his growing concerns about her leadership. Really, who could blame him? She had led them all over Fereldan and the Frostbacks and the Deep Roads, searching for allies and being particularly vigilant about darkspawn and Loghain's men, but not her companions. And when he had challenged her, she had fought back, intending to wound him, to beat him back into submission but her rage had come upon her and she'd killed him on a snowy mountaintop while searching for miracles and finding only heartache.

Another memory brought a sharp stab of pain, of grief and regret, emotions so strong that they ripped through her and nearly brought her to her knees as she stood in the circle of Teagan's arms. Maker, her beloved Zevran. Oh, Maker, make the pain lessen, she prayed.

In her mind's eye she saw him, his wonderful golden eyes lit with humor and love, bending over her, offering her a surprisingly sweet respite from the ever-present vigilance that kept her awake most nights. She had fought so hard for his love and it had been a balm, a gift of peace and grace. But she hadn't taken care of it as she should have. She hadn't been vigilant enough. Somehow she hadn't seen the warning signs in Denerim and her beautiful golden elf had died, alone in a filthy alleyway, because she hadn't seen Taliesen's men in time to prevent it. She'd been too busy standing watch over the Landsmeet.

The sob caught and held in her throat and she pushed it down, down past the terrible emptiness that made her chest seem too small for her heart and lungs, robbing her of breath. War was not about victory but about vigilance and survival and the terrible price paid when one wasn't vigilant enough.

In war it was vigilance and not victory that was of paramount importance and she had waited too long to learn that invaluable lesson.

Soon, when the war was over, she would go with Teagan and try to love him and live a quiet, contemplative life, where she would guard Zevran's memory with the vigilance his life had deserved.

**~~~In Death, Victory~~~**

The roar of battle brought back that devastating night at Ostagar when he had lost the one precious thing he had left in his life. The grief was suddenly a raw and weeping wound again and he blinked, blaming his sudden hot tears on the cinders and ash falling like black snow.

"Alistair, take Oghren and go east towards the fort, we'll go through the alienage!" Katy shouted. "We'll meet there!"

Swiping at tears, he nodded, the words he wanted to speak lodged in his throat as they had always been. As he fought, his mind flickered through memories. Duncan had trusted him to take care of Katy. It was the last thing the commander had told Alistair before leaving to join the king. He'd certainly botched that good and proper. Along with everything else in his life.

What a monumental screw-up, he castigated himself, internally writhing with shame. He had done so pathetically little in the way of helping her. He blinked, remembering the first time he'd seen her, trudging through the camp with her glorious red hair shining in the early morning sun. Her eyes were shadowed by sorrow but still she found time to stop and, smiling sweetly, speak with Wynne and reassure a wounded soldier before coming to stand before him, greeting him with warmth in her big green eyes.

And what had he done? Whined to her about everything from the moment he'd taken her out to find darkspawn blood and treaties. Maker, he'd even forgotten that she'd lost her entire family; that they'd been butchered in front of her eyes. Had he offered her condolences and reassurance? No, he'd done what he'd always done: nattered on about nothing and complained about everything and all of it delivered from behind a wall of self-deprecating humor. He hadn't been taken seriously by anyone because he had never taken himself seriously. He knew that _now_, but before Ostagar there had been no need.

After the battle, he'd left her with every decision because he'd been so sick and numb with grief that he couldn't decide how to put his boots on. Then he'd complained when she made the decisions he'd thrust on her if they didn't coincide with his thoughts on the matter. Not that he ever offered those thoughts until after she had charted a course. Maker, it was a wonder she hadn't left him behind at some point. His entire life he had been reminded his opinions weren't of any consequence. Why would she want to hear them when nobody else had?

With a cry of surprise, he stumbled over a body, broken from its fall. Riordan, eyes skyward, face at peace. In death, peace, Alistair's tired mind decided, a feeling not unlike envy creeping into him. He bent down and closed Riordan's eyes, surprised at a spike of anger that heated his blood for a minute, wiping out the envy. Riordan had the Maker's own luck to have found peace in the midst of battle. He looked as if he'd won, rather than lost. In death, victory, he amended.

"Come on, you pike twirler! Last one to the fort buys the next keg!"

"Yes, because clearly, beer will help fight the 'spawn," Alistair replied, stepping over Riordan and moving on. "We can liquor them up and they'll be so busy singing darkspawn drinking songs they won't notice the combined armies of Thedas beating on them."

"Now you're talking, boy-o!" Oghren agreed, swinging his axe with greater enthusiasm.

Alistair's thoughts once again turned to Katy and he couldn't help but feel badly for the dark shadows that had become permanently imbedded in the pale skin beneath her eyes. He felt badly because he was responsible, he was pretty sure. Whenever a decision needed to be made he was the first one to cower behind the old mantra that he was no leader of men.

She'd once asked him, so exasperated and exhausted that tears had glittered in her eyes, how he was ever going to learn to be a leader of men if he didn't at least try, and he'd shrugged it off, offering her a rose to distract her. Of course she'd crushed it under her boot, and his heart too, for that matter, not that he blamed her. It was no less than he deserved.

He'd overheard her talking to Zevran one night while he was on watch and they were huddled in her tent. He'd been shamed right down to his holey socks at the conversation. She'd been furious with him for not offering to take a group into the Brecilian Forest to find the Dalish and had been complaining to Zevran.

"I can't do everything, Zev, I just can't, but he refuses to act! I could just – just castrate him sometimes!"

"Ah, _mi amor_, Alistair has been castrated by everyone he's ever trusted, I think. That is, perhaps, why he is afraid to be a leader."

"Bollocks," Katy had growled.

Zevran had laughed lightly, indulgently, before speaking again. "_Tesoro_, in his life he sees that he has always lost, why should he think he can win?" Zevran had chided gently and it was his words that had shamed Alistair. That his only champion was an assassin he hadn't been able to bring himself to trust was so humiliating that for a minute Alistair hadn't been able to breathe.

It had seemed cheap and weak to blame his upbringing on his phobia of being a leader, of making the wrong decision, but Zevran had been right in a fundamental way that made Alistair feel even less like trying to lead. It wouldn't matter. He'd lose, he always did. And if he lost, they all lost.

His mind was snapped back to the present by a persistent Hurlock and he fought on, the image of Riordan lying broken - yet somehow victorious - staying with him as he battled the darkspawn and listened to Oghren's cheerful whistling.

They arrived at the entrance to the fort, bloody and exhausted. "Or bloody exhausted," Alistair mumbled, taking a long pull from his canteen.

"Where's Riordan?" Katy asked immediately, grabbing his arm and swinging him around to her.

He had to look away, unwilling to face the fear and fatigue in her expression. "He'll be here, give him time. The Archdemon is down so he's probably up there waiting for us."

The answer sounded feeble to him, as weak as he was, but she accepted it with a look of relief and squeezed his arm. "Almost over now," she yelled above the roar.

She'd been the one to lead them, guiding them through battles and betrayals and the loss of Sten, Leliana and Zevran. And where the bloody blazes was Morrigan? He shook his head in disgust at her absence. It shouldn't have surprised him, really. He glanced at Katy to find her staring at him in concern.

She had a chance at finding happiness with Teagan now so why would he tell her that Riordan was dead and one of them would have to make the killing blow? Hadn't he disappointed her enough over the course of their adventures? Wasn't it time he made a bloody decision? Wasn't it time he stopped being a loser? And in that thought, he felt a peace come to him that he had never felt before. A great swell of pride that sent his shoulders straight and his back upright created an almost euphoric state within him.

"Come on, Commander! We've got a date with an Archdemon!" he yelled, leading the charge into the building and up and up and up until they were on the roof and the chaos of the fighting drove everything else from his mind.

For nearly an hour they battled the Archdemon until the creature was drooping with fatigue, as near to death as was possible without achieving the state. Alistair felt a thrill of adrenaline course through him and he gave Katy a smile. He would do this one thing for her … this one little thing … and he would do it right. He owed her that much, after being the dead weight around her neck for nearly a year. He laughed at that, happy and unfettered by the fear of failure.

With a nod in her direction, he raised his sword and ran to meet his death, because in death there was a victory he had never known in life.

**A/N:** _My thanks to Oleander's One for her willingness to take this mess and beta it, whipping it into something intelligent. Your grace in doing so is appreciated, Ole!_


End file.
